Wildest Dreams
by minachandler
Summary: With a helpful shove in the right direction from Diggle (not to mention a little push from Roy), Oliver finally decides the time is right to ask Felicity out on a date. But still in the back of his mind is that niggling worry that being with the woman he loved was a luxury at odds with his life as a vigilante - and it's just a matter of time before that manifests.
1. hindsight

_Things are as good now as they ever will be, Oliver. And you love her. You even told her so._

 _Now the only person you're fooling is yourself._

Diggle's words echoed in Oliver's head as he waited for the side-door to the foundry to close. A retort of what he knew to be half-hearted denial had been on Oliver's lips, but he couldn't even bring himself to say it. Not when he knew Dig was right.

Slowly, Oliver removed his quiver, placing it on a nearby table. In doing so, he caught sight of the fern that Felicity had bought him, and he automatically smiled. She had done so much to make the foundry their home that Oliver couldn't even be annoyed when she frequently nicknamed it the Arrow Cave.

As he started taking off his hood, his mind wandered to what Diggle said. Oliver couldn't help but think that he had only been half-right. Sure, when Oliver had told Felicity he loved her, it _had_ been part of the plan to defeat Slade. But that didn't mean he was fooling himself into thinking it wasn't true.

Because he did love her. That, he had accepted a while ago. And lately, especially after Clinton Hogue kidnapped her, Felicity had occupied Oliver's thoughts, even his dreams, far more than he would want to admit.

He stared absently at the mannequin where he had hung up his hood. As he sat down on the bed Felicity had bought him, that cold, dark night when Oliver had taken Felicity to Queen Mansion on his motorbike began to replay in his head…

"I need you to be safe," Oliver said, and he hoped, he prayed that Felicity could hear the urgency in his voice. He'd always thought that they had understood each other without needing words. Now, more than ever, with the city at the mercy of Slade Wilson and his army, Oliver was depending on that.

Felicity took a step closer to him, though, and Oliver inwardly groaned. The closer she got, the more his resolve weakened. After all, he was putting the woman standing stubbornly before him in the crosshairs of possibly the most dangerous man Oliver had ever met. And that was in a long, varied career of dangerous men, too.

"Well, I don't want to be safe," Felicity insisted. "I want to be with you."

He couldn't stop a small sigh from leaving his lips at that. _I want to be with you too,_ he wanted to say.

But he didn't. Instead, he said, "I can't let that happen."

She reached out to touch his arm, even closer, now, so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. He could just about see, in the darkness, the fullness of her lips, pink and shiny as they mouthed his name. "Oliver, you're not making any sense."

Oliver took a breath, closing his eyes briefly, because she hadn't moved her hand from his arm. "Slade took Laurel because he wants to kill the woman I love," he said after a few moments.

Still, she did not seem to understand. "I know. So?"

"So he took the wrong woman." And that was easier to say. Much easier. And that was because all he was doing was voicing the myriad of emotions that had hit him, all at once, in the clock tower. It was there that she had told him she believed in him, and it was there that she had reached up with her small body and hugged him with all her might.

Of course, of _course_ he had hugged her back. And as he gazed down at her, he could see disbelief on her face once realisation dawned as to what he meant.

"Oh," was all she said in reply.

"I love you," he breathed. And he didn't have to, not really (after all, he'd said the words he needed to say for the benefit of the camera he knew was looming above them somewhere), but he couldn't stop himself from leaning forward, until his lips were less than an inch from hers. At some point along the way, he had closed his eyes. He was so close to her that he could hear her eyes flutter shut. He waited – out of hesitation or confirmation, he didn't know – for what felt like forever, until at last he felt her tiptoe a little to meet his lips. Finally, he was kissing her, his mouth snatching at hers. There was a silent intensity to their kiss, from the way her hand on his arm tightened so she was squeezing his elbow, her nails digging into green leather, marking his suit, but Oliver didn't care.

His hands went to her hair, now, undoing her ponytail so he could run his fingers through it. When she opened her mouth to moan, he could not stop himself from gently sinking his teeth into her lower lip. She pulled him closer at that, grabbing the front of his hood and yanking him forward so that he could just about feel her breasts pressing against his chest, and the syringe in his pocket was forgotten, now, pushed to the back of his mind along with any thoughts about Slade Wilson, and all Oliver could smell, all he could feel, all he could taste was –

"Oliver?"

And just as suddenly, Oliver was jerked out of his slumber – just in time, too. He sat up on his bed, spotting Roy on the stairs of the foundry. To his relief, a quick deduction in distance told him that he most definitely (hopefully) didn't hear whatever sounds Oliver was sure he was making in his dream.

"Hey," Oliver finally managed to say, just as Roy descended the last stair, mask in one hand, bow in the other. Immediately, Oliver noticed that his partner's fatigue was starting to show. It helped – the concern he started to feel for Roy succeeded in pushing the lingering vestiges of the dream from which he had just surfaced to the back of his mind. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Roy said, and he placed his mask on a table. "Word on the street is that a couple more of Steelgrave's crew are getting a drug shipment tonight."

"Not if we have anything to say about it," Oliver said grimly. He was relieved when the corners of Roy's mouth upturned into a slight smile. "By the way," he added, "I miss her too."

For a second, Roy looked thrown at the sudden change of subject. And then, to Oliver's surprise, he let out a chuckle. "Was it that obvious?"

"You aren't exactly subtle, Roy," Oliver told him, but that just made Roy roll his eyes.

"Neither are you," Roy said pointedly. Even as he spoke, though, and Oliver shot him what he wanted to be a look of admonishment, Oliver was glad that Roy looked a bit more cheerful now he had successfully changed the subject. "Honestly, sometimes I think you and Felicity forget there are other people in the room."

"Roy –"

"I'm just saying," Roy reasoned, "it's not like she's going to say no if you did ask her –"

"Go home," Oliver said flatly, "and get some sleep. And next time I want advice about my love life, I will let… actually, never mind."

Roy just snickered, though. He headed in the direction of the monitors to take off his gear, leaving Oliver to lie back on his bed, staring at the ceiling but smiling nevertheless. They'd come a long way, him and Roy, and not just in terms of archery.

And Oliver knew deep down, despite his own stern words to him, that Roy was right about Felicity. The worst that could happen, after all, was that she could say no.

Oh, this was so much harder than he thought.

He'd thought it through – at least, that was what he told himself. And he had started off well, or so he thought. When she had patted his chest and told him to speak from the heart, she must not have noticed the sudden thump-thump of his quickening heartbeat.

Nevertheless, he had managed to get the words out without too much trouble. But then he noticed the suddenly unreadable expression on her face as she took a couple of steps towards him, her eyebrows raised. "I don't want to read too much into this, but are you asking me out on a date? Like an actual date? Like a _date -_ date?"

"Sure – I mean, the implication being, with dinner, that you –"

"Usually I'm the one talking in sentence fragments," Felicity interrupted. She blinked rapidly in the way she always did when she was nervous. For some reason, that calmed Oliver. It made him smile and huff out half a chuckle and he felt his racing pulse slow down a bit.

And it was easier to speak now, knowing she was probably as nervous as him. "Would you like to go to dinner with me?" he asked again. He held his breath.

"Yes," she said almost instantly, barely letting him finish his sentence. The smile she bestowed on him was wide – tinged with surprise, sure, but still, her eyes sparkled with promise behind her glasses.

"Really?" he blurted before he could stop himself. She just laughed, though.

"What, did you expect me to say no?" Felicity teased.

"Honestly? I had no idea." It felt better for Oliver, admitting that aloud.

"Well, I mean, it's just dinner." He watched as she tilted her head to one side, looking up at him. Her earrings moved, too, glinting in the sunlight. "It's not like we haven't done that before."

"Yeah," he said. "We'll just be sitting at an actual table in an actual restaurant instead of, you know, being at your place where you're trying to drill the meaning of 'fiduciary duty' into my head over Big Belly Burger."

She smiled. "So it _is_ a date."

Oliver could feel his ears grow hot when she said that, but he smiled back anyway. Part of him still couldn't believe that they were actually having this conversation – and not just because Felicity hadn't run a mile when he'd asked her.

"I guess it is. Sorry," Oliver added softly. "I just… haven't done this in a while."

"That makes two of us," Felicity said, and his surprise must have shown on his face. "What? I've been a bit busy ever since this billionaire playboy came to me with a bullet-ridden laptop a couple of years ago."

And this time, Oliver was the one to laugh. "Are you free tonight?" he asked after a moment.

He tried not to notice the way she raised her eyebrows, and he wondered briefly if maybe this was all going too fast after all. But he was thankful when the moment passed and her smile was back. "Well, I have work," Felicity said, "but, after that… yeah, I can do tonight."

"What's happening tonight?" Diggle asked, and Oliver jumped, turning around, his hand going instinctively upwards to his non-existent quiver in the way he always did at a sudden movement.

"Nothing," he and Felicity answered at the same time. Diggle narrowed his eyes, but Oliver could see the corners of his mouth were twitching.

"Sure," Dig said. "I mean, I don't believe either of you, but... okay."

And as the three of them – Oliver, Felicity and Diggle – made their way into the foundry and joined Roy, Oliver knew from the way he stole a glance at Felicity that there was something... different about them already. When Felicity unveiled her new and improved facial recognition software to them, he let his hand linger on her shoulder probably for longer than he normally would. But she just smiled up at him from her chair, holding his gaze, and he found himself getting lost in her eyes.

Still, in the corner of his eye, he could see Roy holding out his hand to Diggle, a look of faint triumph on his features. A moment later, Diggle was not-so-covertly handing him a small wad of cash.


	2. these memories

_God,_ Oliver looked hot in a suit.

Sure, it wasn't like Felicity didn't see Oliver in several aesthetically pleasing states of dress (or undress, for that matter) on a regular basis. But as much as she loved the way those leather pants hugged his body – in all the right places, too – there was something about the sharpness of a suit, the crispness of a shirt and tie, that Felicity had missed over the last few months.

But there was more to it than that. Of course there was. He was opening up to her, about his time away, about how it had changed him, in a way he'd only done on a few occasions in the past. And before, Felicity had always sensed he was holding something back each time.

This time, though, it was different. That much she knew.

"But then I walked into your office," Oliver went on, and Felicity could see his expression changing in an instant. Where, just seconds before, he was solemn (he was no longer nervous, true, but in a way, seeing the pain in Oliver's eyes, the vulnerability that he practically never let see the light of day, let alone to her, was worse), now his lips bore the beginnings of a smile. There was something so reminiscent about the way he looked at her, nostalgic, almost. Immediately, in her mind's eye was their first meeting, when he had presented her with that bullet-ridden laptop with a smile and a flourish that had made it impossible for her to refuse. "You were the first person I could see as a… a _person_."He huffed out a little sigh, shaking his head and glancing up (was it in wonder? Exasperation, maybe?) before continuing, "There was just something about you."

Shifting from side to side, Felicity's hand went unconsciously to her hair, and she looked away in embarrassment. "Oh, yeah, I was chewing on a pen."

"It was red," he told her. And Felicity couldn't stop herself from smiling too. If any part of her had doubted Oliver's feelings in the last twenty-four hours, or if in the back of her mind she had wondered if they were really, truly reciprocated, the fact that he could recall that day with as much clarity as her proved otherwise.

She opened her mouth, wanting to speak, to say something at least. But it was impossible, because what could she even say to that?

Thankfully, for once, Oliver seemed content with being the chattier one. Still, he was hesitant, his words coming out slowly, carefully, as if he had thought about them for a long time. "Do you remember when I told you that because of what we do, I didn't think that… I could be with someone that I… that I could really care about?"

It was only then that Felicity realised she was holding her breath, that Oliver was looking her full in the eyes now, earnest, hopeful. Quickly, she nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

Of course she remembered. She had thought about those very words so often, more so than she wanted to admit.

Felicity watched him, expectant, but also hardly daring to believe that he was going to say what she thought he would.

"So maybe I was wrong," Oliver said.

And at last, Felicity allowed herself to let go of what had always held her back, just a little, from accepting that he _did_ have feelings for her. This time, she did nothing to stop the smile from spreading on her lips, or even the incredulous half-laugh that escaped her mouth.

"Oliver, are you…" Felicity paused, because at that moment, Oliver looked briefly over his shoulder, squinting for a moment into the night sky. But then his gaze returned to Felicity, and she took a deep breath, trying again. "Are you saying that… that everything you said at the mansion was – true?"

And when Oliver's hand covered hers on the table, Felicity found herself closing her eyes at his touch. "I'm sorry for that," he said softly.

She tried to laugh (that wasn't the answer she was expecting, to say the very least, and she was trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her heart). But all that came out of her mouth was a choked sound from her throat. She tugged her hand away instead, avoiding the slightly crestfallen look in Oliver's eyes. "Sorry for what, exactly?"

He sighed. "For a lot of things," he said, "but especially for putting you in danger."

But Felicity shook her head. "You apologised for that already."

"Not just that. I… should have told you. Asked you, at least, if you wanted to go through with it, but –"

"– you wanted a convincing performance?" she suggested lightly.

"That's the thing," he said, and that slightly faraway look in his eyes was back. And this time, Felicity was the one to cover his hand with hers on the table. "It wasn't a performance."

She couldn't help feeling frustration as well as hopefulness when he said that, because he was still skirting around the subject. "What does that mean?"

At first, Oliver didn't answer, and Felicity watched as his mouth opened and closed, as if unsure what to say. Then, to what looked like Oliver's relief, the waiter who had given them their drinks approached their table again.

"Ready to order?" he asked.

"Not yet," Felicity said. Despite the very conversation they were having, she laughed to herself – he had asked her out to dinner, but neither of them had so much as glanced at their menus. The waiter nodded politely and made to leave, but again, Oliver stopped him.

"I heard the bruschetta's supposed to be good here," Oliver said, picking up his menu. "I can't remember the last time I had Italian… but I can remember I liked bruschetta. And… uh, those stuffed olives sound nice too. If you want. You like olives, right?"

"God, now I know how you feel having to put up with _me_ babbling when I'm nervous," Felicity muttered, more to herself than to Oliver, but it was obvious he heard. Still, he didn't say anything, instead shooting her an apologetic half-smile before giving his order to the waiter.

Felicity returned her attention to her menu. "And… I'll have the ravioli, please."

"Certainly, ma'am," the waiter said, and he took away their menus.

"Sorry," Oliver muttered when they were alone once more. "I just…" He trailed off.

"…you just think we're doing this in the wrong order?"

Oliver looked relieved. "Something like that. And though, most of the time, I feel like you know me better than almost anyone, there is also… a lot of me that you don't know. That no one knows. And I was in such a dark place for the years I was away… and even when I came back. Sometimes, I feel like I'll go back there if I tell you."

"That makes two of us." The words were out of Felicity's mouth before she could stop them.

He raised his eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

"I mean… there are a lot of things you don't know about me too."

"Please," he said, and the smile was back in his eyes as he took a sip of his drink, "name one."

Briefly, Felicity smiled, but it faded as she stared at a spot just above Oliver's shoulder. "For a long time… I was in a bad place. For most of my life, it feels like. And – I've lost people too."

"Do you mean your father?" he asked softly. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Oliver then added, "The only time I have ever seen you upset, truly upset, was when you talked about him."

"Yeah, I mean – that's not to say he's the only person I've lost, because he definitely isn't, but when he left… it did change me. Obviously it's different because, well, he's not dead. That I'm fairly sure of." She closed her eyes, but they opened once she felt his hand on her bare arm. Automatically, Felicity leaned into his touch; it was comforting, for some reason, to feel his warm, slightly calloused palm on her skin.

"Hey," he said, "you don't have to tell me. Not if you don't want to."

"I know I don't," Felicity said, grateful for his words but wanting to press on anyway. "I… never told you why I got into – hacking. I mean, I told you what I tell everyone –"

"That computers are just easier to be around than people," Oliver said, nodding.

She allowed herself a moment to once again to smile to herself, appreciate the fact that Oliver most definitely had memory every bit as sharp as his arrows. "The truth is, that was only half of it. Because after my dad left – let's just say I took it really badly."

"Well, you were just a kid, right?"

"That didn't matter. I took it so badly that I spent most of what was left of my childhood teaching myself how to hack into… well, anything."

"So you could find him?" he guessed.

"Yeah," Felicity said faintly. "It helped, you know, that before he left, he taught me everything I know about computers. I guess you could say I was a bit of a daddy's girl," she added, and this time, she managed a smile. "And all that time I was looking for him, or teaching myself new ways to find him, I had a purpose. And for some reason, that made it easier."

"I get that."

"Anyway. When I was about thirteen, I finally found him."

She paused now, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.

"And?" Oliver prompted gently.

"Turned out he hadn't just left my mother," she said at last. "He had left her – us – for someone else. They even had a couple of kids together. And for a long time, I thought about contacting him. But every time me and my mom talked about him, I always got the feeling that she felt she wasn't good enough for him, and that was why he left. So when I found out that he had other kids… well, it made me think I wasn't good enough. To be his daughter."

"Felicity –"

"It's okay," she interrupted. "Really. That was when I was barely a teenager, and with serious daddy issues, too. It was a long time ago. I know I'm worth more than that."

"A lot more," Oliver murmured.

Squeezing his hand gratefully, Felicity hesitated, trying to pick her words carefully. "For the longest time, everything I did – academically and otherwise – was because I wanted him to be proud of me. I pushed myself, way too hard, and I pushed too many people away in the process." She paused again, taking a deep breath. "Until I met you. I'm… I've never said this, but I'm glad I joined you when I did. God knows what my life would be like if I hadn't."

"It would probably be less chaotic," he said dryly. "Although I doubt our city would even be in one piece if it weren't for you."

"True," Felicity said, smiling, "but… that's not what I meant. Not exactly. I was talking more about how my life would have been just as predictable." She looked away from him. "And just as lonely. If not lonelier."

"I know a thing or two about that," Oliver admitted quietly. "On the island, it wasn't like I didn't have company, or friends. I had Yao Fei, and Shado, and Slade, even. And Sara, for a while. But even if I had been surrounded by a hundred people, that didn't change the fact that…"

"…that in your head, you were still alone?" Felicity's voice was softer now, unexpectedly so.

"Exactly. And… you once told me it was better to be alone."

"In my defence, I had just seen someone die in front of me for the first time. As in, it was the first time I could have prevented him dying and couldn't."

"So you don't really think that?" He didn't look surprised. Not really. More bemusement than anything.

"I think it's _easier_ being alone," she said, once she'd found her voice again. "Not better. Easier. Less complicated, less difficult, less… emotionally draining."

And when their eyes met this time, it was obvious he knew what she meant.

"When I took you to the mansion," Oliver said slowly, "I knew I was putting a lot on the line. The fate of Starling City, your life, Laurel's… but there was something else. I wondered if you would ever forgive me."

"Oliver," Felicity began, but the words got stuck in her throat.

"Not just for putting you in harm's way. I was worried… terrified, actually, that I had screwed up any chance of being with you. Properly. Because the first time I told you how I felt, how I _really_ felt, was for the benefit of someone else."

"On the island," she said, and to her annoyance, her words came out as a croak. She coughed, clearing her throat and trying again. "On the island… I gave you the chance to take it back. If you wanted."

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"I remember," Oliver said at last.

"I was glad you didn't," Felicity blurted out before she could stop herself. But she could feel Oliver's hand turn over and squeeze hers at her words.

"Me too," he said. "Actually, I couldn't take it back if I tried. Because it was true. Every word of it." Felicity didn't say anything – she _couldn't_ , even if her life depended on it – so she brought her other hand onto the table instead, making the cutlery clatter in the process. But she didn't care.

Oliver did the same, and his hands were warm, rough, beneath hers, his thumb rubbing a circle on her palm. He was still gazing right at her, and she shifted a little closer on her chair so she could feel their knees bump together under the table, and that alone accelerated her already rapid heartbeat. "And the truth is, for so long, I've convinced myself that I can't be happy. But I was wrong. Because I realised something, these last few weeks. I realised that I could do both. I could protect the city I love, and I could be with the woman I love, too." He lifted her hand, then, and to her shock, he pressed a kiss on her knuckles, before looking up at her. "I love you, Felicity."

Felicity blinked, and she wondered if she had heard right – had Oliver Queen just professed his love to her, on their first ever date, no less? And then, barely realising what she was doing, Felicity was halfway to her feet, leaning towards him, but Oliver was quicker, reaching across the table and cupping her cheek. For what felt like the longest time, Oliver just looked at her, his nose brushing hers, his eyes a burning, bright blue, as if he were savouring the moment. But then Felicity couldn't take it any longer; she reached up, her finger under Oliver's chin, and she closed the distance between their lips and kissed him full on the lips.

At last, at long, long last, he was kissing her, or she was kissing him – she wasn't sure. And it was awkward, more so than she imagined (and she had definitely imagined it before, far more times than she wanted to admit). And yet, even in their less-than-comfortable position – Felicity half-standing and Oliver leaning right across the table for better access to her lips – the feeling of his stubble grazing her skin and her fingertips where she was cupping his face was even more pleasurable than she had thought it would be. She was sure people were staring; after all, it was hardly a common sight to see people having their first kiss at the table on their first date with an "I love you" thrown in for good measure, but Felicity didn't care. Not really.

In fact, she was so lost in the way he was coaxing her lips open, now ( _wow_ , was he good at kissing), that she only just about registered her elbow knocking over her glass of water. She pulled back, stretching her hand out to try and catch the glass before it fell to the floor, but the moment she attempted to open her eyes, her world began to spin.

Round and round and round her surroundings went, rotating, blurring, and all the while moving faster and faster until Felicity realised she was no longer in her chair. She had to be lying down; she tried opening her eyes again, but the sudden pain she could feel in her head made it impossible for her to do so.

It was then, too, that she became aware of the smoky smell around her that could only possibly be C4. She could feel a sharp coldness of metal, too, beneath her elbows and on the exposed skin of her legs. Above her, she could hear faint voices, but they were muffled, too muffled for her to identify anyone.

Oliver. Where was he? Where was _she_? Felicity squeezed her eyes shut, so tightly that it was hard for her to breathe, and then, with all the strength she could muster –

"Oliver!" she cried. At last, she jerked awake, and the dull throbbing pain in the side of her head intensified.

"Hey, hey, hey," Oliver said. Immediately, she felt a wave of relief wash over her, even if his face was covered in soot, because as Felicity grabbed onto the front of his shirt, she could feel the thump-thump of his heartbeat beneath the backs of her fingers. "You're safe. I'm here."

"Oh my God," Felicity breathed. She was in the foundry – on the ill-fated metal table of doom, to be exact. "What… what happened?"

"The restaurant you two were in…" Another voice. It was only now that she realised she and Oliver weren't alone. The voice belonged to John. And Roy was there too. "Someone blew it up."

"One of Steelgrave's crew, we're thinking," Roy added.

"What? Steelgrave – but I thought you took them down," Felicity said, and her words came out quickly, too quickly, to the point that she became breathless. She paused for a moment, allowing herself time to take a few breaths. "Oliver… are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"You're not hurt?" she asked, and she couldn't stop herself from cupping his cheek. He shook his head reassuringly. Felicity tried to heave herself up, but Oliver's hand closed around her wrist.

"Stay there," Oliver murmured. Felicity was about to insist impatiently that she was fine, but then she saw the pleading look in his eyes and lay back again. His grip on her arm relaxed, and after blinking several times, Felicity's vision finally came back into focus. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

"I'm fine," she said. Indeed, as reality crashed down around her, she found herself feeling a lot less disoriented.

Because she knew, now, that Oliver telling her he _did_ love her, sans hidden cameras, was simply too good to be true. It was coming back to her: the explosion, the fact that their date had been cut short not even halfway through. And most of all, Felicity was painfully aware of the harsh reality: that her imagination had conjured up the rest of their date, a fantasy that really could only have come true in her wildest dreams.

"Are you sure?" John asked.

"My head hurts a bit," Felicity said.

"Roy, get her some ice," Oliver ordered, and what felt like seconds later, Roy handed her an ice pack.

"Thanks," she said gratefully. This time, she managed to sit up, and the pain in her head reduced as she pressed the ice pack on her head. She looked up at Oliver. "How did… whoever bombed the restaurant know you were there?"

Felicity narrowed her eyes a little as Roy shifted uncomfortably on his feet and John closed his eyes in exasperation. Then her gaze settled on Oliver, on the way he pressed his lips together and tightened his fists.

Eventually, John said, "The guy Oliver caught today… uh, he put a tracer on him. His suit, to be precise." Felicity opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Oliver found his voice.

"John, you should get back to Lyla. We've got this."

"Oliver –"

"The mother of your child needs you more than us right now," Oliver interrupted. "Go. We'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" John asked, and he was looking at Felicity now.

"We'll be fine," Felicity said, echoing Oliver's words. "Don't worry about it."

Next, Oliver turned to Roy. "Are you okay patrolling for a bit? The streets might be a bit more… chaotic with the bombing."

Roy nodded. "Sure."

There was silence as Roy suited up, the only noise being the sounds of zipping and clipping of holsters and finally, the snap of his quiver being strapped on. Felicity removed her ice pack, placing it on the table, before making to get down.

Oliver was at her side in an instant. "Easy," he said softly, his arm automatically winding around her waist to help her off the table.

"Thanks," she said quietly, allowing him to steer her towards her chair in front of the monitors. She watched as he then took a couple of steps back, until he was leaning against one of the tables.

"You okay?" Oliver asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Felicity lied.

"Neither am I," he said swiftly, and she laughed lightly.

"It's just my luck, really. Bad things seem to happen when guys ask me out on dates."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, though, she regretted them. Oliver looked away from her, biting his lip, and it took all of Felicity's willpower not to march right up to him and kiss him – soot-faced and all – just to stop the next words he said. "I'm sorry."

"This wasn't your fault."

"I was the one who let that guy plant a tracer on me," he said, his voice hollow.

"Oliver, it wasn't your fault," she insisted. "I get that guilt-tripping yourself is something you automatically do whenever something goes wrong, but this isn't on you." He didn't look convinced. "Anyway," Felicity went on, "we were lucky. We're both okay. That's all that matters."

"I contacted Lance," Oliver said abruptly. "Told him the new leader of Steelgrave's crew is obviously responsible. He's looking into it now."

She was somewhat reassured by this – the fact that he was letting Lance handle it, at least until he got his bearings back. "Good. Let him do that, then, and take me home, please." It was only when she saw Oliver's mouth begin to twitch into something close to a smile that she realised what she said. "Not like _that_ – I didn't mean take me _home_. I just – probably look as much of a mess as you do. And, you know, we should really get out of these clothes." This time, he chuckled, and Felicity joined in, glad that at least her lack of verbal filter had one upside. "You know what I mean."

"All right." He held his hand out to her, and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. But as soon as Felicity was upright, he released her hand and took a step back, before heading towards the foundry's side entrance. Trying not to feel too crestfallen, Felicity followed.

Before long, the van stopped outside Felicity's apartment. (To Felicity's relief, Oliver didn't even suggest taking his Ducati – probably because she'd had enough fear for one evening.) The ride had been quiet, mostly, and she was relieved that their journey was fairly short. Once Oliver had turned off the engine, he was out of the van and on Felicity's side in a flash, all before she had even managed to disentangle her arm from the seatbelt.

"You okay?" he asked as he opened her door.

Holding onto his shoulder for support, Felicity climbed out. "Yeah," she said. The fresh air had helped; she wasn't nearly as winded as she had been when she had first woken up, and the pain in her head had lessened considerably. In silence, Felicity led the way to her apartment, and neither of them spoke until they reached her door.

"So," she said in a small voice, "this is me, I guess."

Oliver didn't say anything, so Felicity took that time to unlock her door. Straightaway, she went to her alarm, quickly tapping in the code, and it was when she straightened and turned around that she realised he was still on the other side of the threshold.

"Come inside," Felicity said. But he shook his head, and she tried to keep how upset she suddenly was when he did that. Ever since they had left the foundry, she had felt a tension between them that she had never felt before.

"I should probably go back to the foundry. In case Lance calls the Arrow with a lead."

"It's going to take him a while to locate the new leader of a street gang, don't you think?" she reasoned.

He looked away from her then. "I just had to make sure you got home safe," he said. "And now you are. So –"

"Hey," Felicity interrupted, and she couldn't stop herself from grabbing his arm. Truth be told, part of her was wondering how she was even able to hold it together considering how shaky she was feeling inside. "Are you sure you're okay, Oliver?"

"I'm fine." She was silent, and it must have been obvious that she wasn't convinced, because then he said, "Really. Listen… just get some rest, okay?"

The lump in her throat was back and more painful than ever. "Okay."

Finally, Oliver looked her in the eyes, and this time, his smile was genuine – even if he was clearly exhausted and his face was still covered in soot and sweat. "Goodnight."

And for some reason, Felicity couldn't stop herself from reaching up to hug him. At first, she could feel Oliver stiffen, but then he relaxed – just like in the restaurant, and for a long moment, Felicity buried her face into his chest, her nose lightly brushing against his bare skin at the opening of his shirt.

All too soon, though, the spell was over. Oliver pulled away, refusing to meet her eyes.

She watched his retreating back as he walked down the hall.

"Goodnight," she said softly.


	3. nothing lasts forever

For how long Oliver sat in the van, parked a short distance from Felicity's apartment, he wasn't quite sure. He wasn't sleepy, as such, but exhaustion was started to kick in. And given the fact that he had narrowly avoided being killed by a bomb tonight, it was no surprise, really.

He'd told Felicity that he would go back to the foundry, in case Lance needed him. And, in fact, he had turned on the engine and driven several blocks away from her apartment before – inexplicably – he'd done a U-turn and headed straight back.

After all, Felicity was right. It would take Lance a while to find out who the new leader of a street gang was – and it would take even longer to ascertain this leader's location before getting back to the Arrow.

So here he was. All was quiet so far, and after some time, Oliver finally allowed his mind to wander to his disastrous date with Felicity. He winced, remembering how his heart had started racing upon seeing her on the restaurant floor, unconscious, her leg half-covered in rubble, and how it had only slowed down a fraction when he felt the steady beat of her pulse on her wrist. Oliver buried his head in his hands, still not quite believing how _stupid_ he had been. How could he have defeated the likes of Malcolm Merlyn and Slade Wilson and yet failed to notice bug on him – planted by a low-level street thug, no less?

Of course, he knew the answer to that. He was distracted, so caught up in the prospect of finally telling Felicity how he felt, how he _really_ felt, how he had felt for longer than he wanted to admit, that he had completely disregarded the other half of his life.

And it had nearly cost him hers.

It wasn't as if Oliver had never come close to losing Felicity before. Just a few weeks ago, he was willing to give himself up if it meant Clinton Hogue let her go. And before that was Slade, the Clock King, the Count… the list was endless, really.

But he knew tonight was different, because tonight, he had decided to be Oliver Queen.

He wasn't making that mistake again.

A sudden beep from his phone brought him out of his reverie. He got his phone out of his pocket – it was a text from Felicity.

 _If you're going to insist on watching my apartment tonight, at least do it from inside._

Despite everything, Oliver couldn't stop himself smiling. Then, a few seconds later, his phone pinged again.

 _Seriously, my neighbours are the gossipy type. That, and I have pizza. If you want._

He wasn't really hungry – being in an explosion had made him lose his appetite – but for some reason, he got out of the van anyway. The walk to her apartment helped clear his head, somehow, distract him from his brooding thoughts.

Still, he wondered if it was a good idea for him to go in. He raised his hand to knock on the door but hesitated. Thankfully, at that moment, Felicity opened the door, making the choice for him.

"So pizza won out," she said with a slight smile. Oliver smiled back. Felicity had clearly just showered – her glasses were off, her hair wet, and she was wearing a thin white camisole and purple pyjama pants. "I just figured, you know, we went out to dinner but didn't get to eat. So, pizza. Although, I should probably add that it's from yesterday. I mean, obviously, it's been in my refrigerator, but –"

"That's fine." He wasn't quite meeting her eyes, instead fixing his gaze on a spot around her right shoulder instead.

She seemed to notice, too. "You all right?"

"Not really," he said honestly. She sighed, stepping back to let Oliver pass, before closing the door behind him and gesturing for him to sit down on her couch. Oliver reluctantly did so, settling on the couch and leaning back against the cushions. "I thought you said you were going back to the foundry, anyway?"

Oliver looked away from her, staring at his shoes instead. "I was headed there. But then… I was worried about you, I guess. So I came back."

At first, Felicity didn't say anything. She went over to her microwave instead, pressing a button to turn it on. Even from where he was, at a slight distance, it was impossible to ignore the way her damp hair glistened in the dim light. Her back was still to Oliver as she said, with a sigh, "That's very chivalrous of you, Oliver, but I can look after myself, you know."

"I know that," he said quickly. "It's just – we both almost died tonight."

"We didn't, though." Still, Felicity's back was turned. And suddenly, the distance between them was too much to bear; Oliver got to his feet and he was by her side, barely before he even realised he had moved.

"You need help?" He made to put his hand on her shoulder, but after a moment, he thought better of it, letting his hand drop back to his side.

"Yeah, you can get plates from that cupboard over there. And glasses, if you can."

"Sure," he said, and this time, she did look up at him. She smiled, then, and it hit him once again how beautiful she was – her hair was swept over one shoulder, a few stray droplets of water lingering on the ends of her hair making her bare shoulder wet. Felicity had taken her makeup off, too, and her features were less pronounced, softer, her tiredness more obvious up close. Still, that didn't stop her eyes lighting up when they met his, warm and expectant, and it was then that he remembered he had offered to help and she had asked him to do something. Hastily, he did as she asked, placing the plates and glasses on the kitchen surface, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Felicity turning on the tap and wetting a flannel at the sink.

He turned towards her, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "What are you –"

"You look awful," she told him matter-of-factly, and he chuckled. "And believe me, it takes a _lot_ for you to look awful. At least let me clean you up."

Sighing, Oliver nevertheless obediently bent his knees a little so Felicity wouldn't have to tiptoe as much. And as he closed his eyes, he felt an unexpected hand on the back of his neck, keeping his face steady while she wiped the soot off his forehead. Her touch was gentler than he imagined, especially when she wiped over his eyelids. And then, as she leaned over him to wash out the flannel under the tap, he suddenly became very aware of the fact that she clearly wasn't wearing a bra. He groaned inwardly, holding his breath, eyes still closed, waiting for her to move so she was no longer pressed right against him, and after what felt like forever, she finally did.

And either she didn't notice the rapid decrease of personal space between them that had just happened, or she was pretending not to, because silence fell as she continued to clean his face. The flannel was hot and felt soothing on his skin, and so was her warm hand on his shoulder.

"Lucky your hair's short," she said after a couple of minutes, and this time, Oliver took the flannel from her and washed it out himself before handing it back to her. "Took me ages to get all the ash out of mine. And I still think it smells."

"It doesn't," Oliver assured her, and it was impossible for him not to breathe in her now-familiar scent of sandalwood and honey. Again, though for a moment she opened her mouth, as if on the verge of speech, Felicity didn't say anything. She continued to gently apply the flannel on his skin, until at last Oliver felt clean, and some of the fatigue that he had been feeling since the explosion came off along with the grime on his face. "Thank you," he said gratefully. Felicity smiled back, before turning to the microwave, which had just pinged.

Minutes later, they were sitting on Felicity's couch, plates of steaming pizza on their laps. "Probably not the dinner you were hoping for," Oliver said, and he watched as Felicity lifted her legs onto the couch and tucked them beneath her.

But then, to his surprise, she laughed. "Oh, I don't know. It's still Italian. Technically."

They were both quiet for a moment as he took a bite from his slice of pizza, and he could see from her expression that she was hesitating. "What is it?" he asked.

"Oliver, you were in the middle of telling me something. On our date." Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but Felicity went on hurriedly, "I just mean – I know neither of us are exactly dressed for it, but can we not just… pick up from where we left off?"

He sighed. "Felicity, where we left off was an explosion that almost killed us."

"I know that," she said. "But I also know that we're both still alive and that… not two hours ago, you were telling me that you were wrong when you told me that you didn't think you could be with anyone."

"And right after that, I almost lost you." Oliver set down his late, pizza half-eaten, unable to look her in the eyes. "You know, I've been on that table in the foundry more times than I can count. So has Diggle. And Roy. And I've always been able to live with it when it comes to them because – I don't know, being in the field is their job, I guess, just like it is mine. But seeing you there – it was different."

"But I'm fine," Felicity said resolutely. " _We're_ fine."

"This time we are," he said. "I – Felicity, I'm scared."

She did the same as Oliver, putting her plate down on the table before folding her arms. "Of what?"

Still, he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. "You know what. I don't know what I'd do if something happens to you…"

But Felicity shook her head. "This is about more than that."

And Oliver didn't have it in him to deny it. "You're right," he said, and finally, he managed to look her in the eyes. He almost instantly regretted it, though, because as soon as he did so, he became lost in her soft grey gaze, so warm and earnest that his resolve was already beginning to crumble.

Felicity didn't seem to notice, though – that, or she didn't say anything if she did. "Tell me."

"It's hard to explain," he began. He was silent, trying to think of the words, but they weren't coming out.

"Look, I get it," she said eventually. "I meant what I said before. It's been… more than a while since I've been with someone, and honestly, I never really had the whole relationship figured out –"

"It's not that," Oliver finally managed to say. "I – when I was with Sara, I…" Again, he hesitated, but the mention of Sara's name made Felicity raise her eyebrows in curiosity. "I asked her to move in with me."

He wasn't sure what reaction he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't her tilting her head to one side and regarding him with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

"What did she say?"

"I… never got an answer from her. Soon after, she broke things off. She said it was because... because she didn't think she was good enough for me, that there was too much darkness in her, and I couldn't convince her that she was wrong. But when I look at you, Felicity, I sometimes wonder the same. That there is – darkness in me, that there are things I did in the time I was away that you don't know about, that no one knows about, that would make you see me differently. And honestly? I'm afraid of that."

And at some point while Oliver was speaking, she had shifted closer to him on the couch, so that her knee was brushing against his. "I'm sorry," she said, reaching out and covering his hand with hers. "About things not working out with Sara."

"It's okay. I mean… I think we both realised – later – that as much as we loved each other, the truth was, we were both in love with other people." He took a deep breath, and then, before he could give himself a chance to hesitate, he said "And I do love you, Felicity. A lot."

She was close enough to him that he could feel her sharp intake of breath at his words. Up close, too, he watched as her eyes widened incredulously. In truth, Oliver's sudden candour had surprised even himself, but he didn't regret saying those words, and if the tightening of her fingers on his wrist and the way she bit her lip in a half-smile, half-laugh was any indication, neither did she.

Oliver couldn't help but chuckle a little at her disbelief. "You look so surprised."

The smile didn't leave Felicity's lips or her eyes. "It's just nice to hear you say those words to me without a syringe being involved."

Her hand was on his cheek now, and he reached up and made to move it away. But as soon as he lifted his hand to hers, her fingers laced with his and he found it impossible to let go – which only served to make his next words even more painful. "I meant what I said," he murmured, "even back then. But, Felicity – I can't. _We_ can't."

"And is that because you think – wrongly, I should add – that you don't deserve me… or because of the whole, you leading a double life, us being in an explosion because you lost your focus thing?"

"Both," he said honestly. Oliver groaned inwardly, though, because Felicity's face was still mere inches from his and it was becoming unbearable.

But then, unexpectedly, she reached up, hands still framing his cheeks, raising herself until she was on her knees on the couch and it dipped a little with her weight, and before he could stop her – not that he would, anyway, because this was _Felicity_ – she was pressing her lips against his forehead. And her touch was feather-light, so much so that when she pulled away to meet his eyes, Oliver wondered if it had really happened at all, but any doubt that he had disappeared when he saw her smile. "Look, I can't convince you that nothing you tell me about your time - on the island, on the freighter, in Hong Kong - will change the way I see you. But I know you will figure it out."

This time, he caught hold of her wrist, managed to move it away from his face. "I don't know how."

Still, Felicity's smile didn't waver. "Neither do I. But I'm sure of one thing."

And it was damn near impossible for Oliver not to smile back – not when she was looking at him like that, like she was seeing right through the mask that stayed on long after the Arrow had lowered his hood. "Yeah?"

She was so close to him now that he could feel the flutter of her breath on his nose. "Yeah. I love you too, Oliver," she whispered, and the words had barely left her mouth when he just couldn't take it anymore – his arm curled almost of its own accord around her waist, and then he was kissing her, sweetly, softly, at first, just his lips against hers. But then, the kiss deepened, and before he knew it, Felicity was climbing on top of him on the couch, straddling him, so he could feel the warmth of her legs on either side of his waist as she pushed off his suit jacket.

Neither of them spoke, maybe because neither of them wanted to break the spell, or whatever this was, and it didn't take long for Oliver to become breathless, but still, he didn't pull away – he couldn't, for the life of him, and a jolt of electricity shot right through his spine as she plied his mouth open with her own. She let out a quick, breathy pant and then a long moan, and he swallowed the sound and could feel the heat of it – visceral – in the back of his throat as he fisted his hands in her still-damp hair, pulling her closer until not an inch of space separated them and he could feel the gentle swell of her breasts against his chest and the only thing between her skin and his was clothing.

His need for her was becoming obvious now, and despite the desperation of their kiss that they were both still clinging to, it was almost like she was teasing him, the way she pressed her hips onto him and briefly, tantalisingly, let her fingers skim between his legs. Oliver groaned her name, hands raking at her hair still, and his grip tightened when she sucked down on his lower lip.

He never wanted to let her go – he couldn't, even if he tried; he wanted nothing more than to stay lost in the blissful oblivion that was Felicity Smoak with her legs wrapped around his waist, still kissing him so hard that he couldn't even fathom having a single misgiving. And then, barely audible against the wonderful sounds Felicity was making in his mouth, he could hear a phone ringing – his, or Felicity's he was unsure, but he didn't care – this was more important; _she_ was more important, but the noise was getting louder now, and she was pulling away now. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and she was saying something, but he couldn't hear her over that _noise_ –

Oliver woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. He was breathing heavily, and immediately he could feel a knot in the back of his neck from where he had fallen asleep in the front seat of the van. Wincing, he got his phone out of his pocket and groaned – there were three missed calls from Lance. Trying his best to get his breath back, he sat up, pressing the call back button.

"Sorry, detective," he said into the phone. "I was… occupied."

"Ah, don't sweat it," Lance replied. "One of Steelgrave's crew finally gave me a name. And where we can find him."

"Go." He winced again as he moved his neck from side to side.

"He's supposed to be holed up at a defunct factory at Seventh and Drayton."

Already, he was starting up the engine, and as he did so, he opened the window. The cool night air was soothing, and he welcomed the cold feeling against his sweat-covered skin. "And how do you know he wasn't lying?"

"Well, one of my tech boys found CCTV footage of a man matching his description entering said factory, and he hasn't left."

"Got it. Thanks, detective."

He hung up, but as he drove back to the foundry to get his Arrow gear, he could not help but look back longingly at Felicity's apartment. He wanted nothing more than to march to her door and kiss her so neither of them could breathe - just like in his dream.

He knew, though, in his heart, that the possibility of that happening – of anything happening – between him and Felicity was so remote that he was better off confining that fantasy firmly to the back of his mind where it belonged.

Still, when Zytle hit him with the Vertigo, Oliver knew why he saw himself. Sure, he had been dreaming, but he hadn't been lying to Felicity when he had said this was more about leading a double life. As the Arrow, he had a purpose – to catch the bad guy and hand him over to the SCPD. It was clear cut. Simple. But letting himself love Felicity Smoak was different – letting her love him, if she did, was not something he thought he could do, not when there was so much of him she didn't know and she was a hundred times too good for him.

So he resolved to keep his distance. He decided that it was better for both of them that the only time he would ever be kissing her was in his wildest dreams – and that he would keep it that way.  
But then he found himself on the rooftop of boxing arena with Sara, whose timely intervention had allowed him to take out Zytle once and for all. It was comforting, seeing her – surprising, yes, but a relief just the same, because he had missed her a lot.

"How about you, how are you doing?" Sara asked.

Oliver tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace. "I'm... working through some stuff."

Unexpectedly, Sara tiptoed and reached up, hands on his shoulders, a smile on her lips. "Word of advice? We're not our masks, and we need people in our lives who don't wear one."

This time, he did smile, but as Sara put her mask and wig back on, she turned back round for a second. "Tell Dig congrats from me, okay?"

He nodded. "Sure."

"And... Ollie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do yourself a favour, and don't make the mistake I made, okay?"

And before Oliver could ask what she meant, exactly, the Canary disappeared into the night, blonde hair flying a little in the wind.

"I'm so sorry." It almost pained him to look at her, to see the hurt in her eyes and to watch the way she pressed her lips together in that knowing, not-quite-smile of hers. "I thought that I could be me, and the Arrow, but I can't. Not now... maybe not ever."

"Then say never. Stop... dangling maybes. Say it's never going to work out between us. Say you never loved me. Say..."

But at that moment, any resolve he had disappeared completely, and before he knew it, he was cupping her cheeks with his hands and murmuring her name and kissing her, because how could she think for one second that he didn't love her? And she tasted so warm, so sweet, her lips soft, a hundred times more so than in any of his dreams. Reluctantly, slowly, he pulled away, saying to her earnestly, "Don't ask me to say that I don't love you."

But when she opened her eyes, he could see they were shimmering with tears, and a lump formed in his own throat as she tugged his hands away from her face.

"I told you," she said, and her voice was surprisingly steady, "as soon as we talked, it would be over."

And as he watched her walk away, her hand automatically going to her mouth – as if to wipe the taste of him away – he realised his hands were cradling air. If this was a dream, he would have run after her, grabbed her hand, told her he loved her and that he would make it work and _please could we talk about it some more Felicity please_ –

But this was not a dream.

Oliver Queen dreamt of the beautiful and the impossible and the unrealistic – and those were fantasies, luxuries the Arrow simply didn't have time for.


End file.
